


know when to run

by Glitter_Lisp



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gambling, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 09:37:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12956445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitter_Lisp/pseuds/Glitter_Lisp
Summary: Shiro grows up surrounded by poker, poor choices, and a father who can't keep the two away from his son.Or, it takes Shiro eight years to get a dog.Or, a disjointed account of Shiro's life: growing up, bending over backwards, and finding the people who care.





	know when to run

**Author's Note:**

> Written during NaNo, edited in about thirty minutes while I tried to avoid editing something else. Not beta'ed, any mistakes are mine, so on and so forth. There's actually only one scene that's violent; in it, someone's wrist is broken and there are knives involved but not used. If you don't want to read it, skip from '"Haggar," Shiro gasps,' to "'Pinkie it is."'
> 
> Yeah, yeah, title is from The Gambler, I know.

"So what do you want for your birthday this year?" his dad asks around a mouthful of burnt eggs. "Thirteen's a big one."

Shiro pokes at his own breakfast and thinks about it. He thinks about how he could promise to be responsible, and how he'd be in charge of walking, feeding, and training, and how studies have shown that people with pets live longer, happier lives. He thinks about his dad losing his last five dollars and not having enough money to buy bacon, let alone dog food. He thinks that Matt has a dog and Shiro's allowed to go over whenever he wants, so it's not that big a deal, really.

"Atlantic City was fun last year," he says. "We could go up there again."

Atlantic City was less fun the dozen or so other times they've gone up since his birthday last year. Actually, it wasn't even that fun when they went for his birthday. Atlantic City is kind of awful in every imaginable way. But Shiro thinks about his birthday, and he thinks about asking for a dog, and then he thinks about Keith.

His dad grins at him. "You're a chip off the old block, aren't you? Atlantic City it is."

* * *

 

"Maybe you should spend the summer with me," Matt says one day when they're fifteen. In theory, they're doing homework. In practice, they're lounging on Matt's bed and pretending homework doesn't exist. Shiro sits upright, leaning against the wall, and Matt lies against the pillows with his feet in Shiro's lap. "We're going camping. You could come with, and then just kind, you know. Stick around." Shiro shrugs and lazily tosses a crumpled up piece of paper into Matt's wastebasket across the room. "I don't think your dad would mind."

Shiro snorts at that. "I don't think my dad would  _ notice _ ." Matt falls silent. Shiro winces. "Sorry. I know you don't like it when I say stuff like that."

"It's not that," Matt mutters. "I don't like it that you say it like it's normal."

"It  _ is _ normal. When he's not drunk, he's off playing cards, and either way, he's not exactly paying attention to me."

Suddenly, Matt's feet are off Shiro's legs and he's scrambling to his knees to wrap Shiro in an awkward hug. "He should be," he says fiercely. "You're worth noticing, and he's fucking stupid for not doing it."

Shiro tries to shrug again, but it's hard when Matt is wrapped around him like a bony octopus. "It's fine," he says, surprised when his voice cracks. "Who cares, anyways?"

"I do," Matt grumbles, somehow clinging to Shiro even tighter. "You're my best friend, Shiro. I care about you, and I care that your dad is honestly kind of shit."

"He's not..." Shiro trails off, feeling lost. "He just needs a win. Once he gets back on his feet he'll-"

"Shiro," Matt interrupts, looking up at him with a small frown. "You don't have to do that."

Shiro tries to answer, but all that he can come out with is a squeak. He swallows and tries again. "I'm not doing anything. It's fine."

Matt let's out a frustrated noise. "It's not  _ fine _ . It's bullshit, and your dad sucks ten kinds of ass, and you deserve better, and you're allowed to be pissed off about it."

Shiro bows his head and breathes in sharply through his nose, trying to get himself under control. "I just..." He stops himself, then lets out a slow, steady breath. "I think I would actually like to go camping with you guys, if your parents are cool with that."

"You kidding?" Matt asks. "It was Mom's idea to invite you."

* * *

 

"You just gotta watch 'em careful," Keith says. "Pay attention to how they're walking and all, that's important."

Shiro watches. "So you can tell who has the most money?"

"Sometimes," Keith says with a shrug. "If all you're looking to do is pick their pockets. Then yeah, obviously go for someone who just won big. But other times you just have to look sad and someone'll give you money. And for that you want..." He trails off, eyeing Shiro expectantly.

"Someone who looks kind," Shiro finishes, nodding his understanding. "I get it."

"You say 'kind,' I say 'stupid,'" Keith mutters. "But yeah, same difference. Like, that guy there?" He points to a man stepping out of the casino, winking at the doorman as he finishes buttoning his coat. "Big winner.  _ Sore _ winner. You could fall down bleeding in front of him and he'd probably step over you. The lady with him lost some money but she's not too bothered by it. See? She looks annoyed but she's keeping pace and talking to him still."

"So if she were by herself," Shiro says thoughtfully, "she'd be good to talk to?"

"Oh, yeah, totally," Keith says, and he looks almost proud of Shiro. It's kind of dumb, coming from a kid younger than him who he just met, but it still makes Shiro feels warm and pleased. He can feel himself blushing, and he reaches up to tug his cap down further over his ears to hide it. Keith doesn't notice, or at least he doesn't say anything about it.

"Okay, you see that guy there?" Keith says, and Shiro nods, watching the guy who stops just outside the doors to chat with the doorman. "He's a regular. And you don't try anything with them, because if you can recognize them, that means they can recognize you, too."

"And they'll call you out," Shiro says, making a soft noise of understanding. "You'd get in trouble."

"Forget getting in trouble, you'd lose your spot," Keith says. "You can always get away from the cops. But if they point you out to security, they'll know to be on the lookout for you, and you can't come back here anymore."

They watch in silence as the man shakes hands with the doorman and finally leaves. Even from across the street, Shiro can hear him whistling.

"You don't come here too often, anyways, though," Shiro says. "Right? Because forget regulars, if you're here all the time the employees are bound to recognize you."

"Yeah, I split my time between places," Keith says, as casually as though he's not talking about picking pockets and conning people. "I hang out at a lot of bus stops. People'll always give you a few bucks for a ticket. You can pull that one like ten times in an hour." He grins at Shiro, unexpectedly sharp. "It helps if you actually have a bus pass."

Shiro is about to answer, but there's a sudden commotion by the doors, and they turn to watch as two bouncers half carry, half drag a man out the front door. He shouts incoherently and tries to wrestle himself out of their grip, and Shiro starts forward before he even thinks about it. Keith's hand at his elbow stops him.

"What are you doing?" he hisses. "That guy looks nuts! You don't go near the crazy ones!"

If he thought he was blushing before, it's nothing compared to the throbbing heat in his cheeks now. "Keith, that's my  _ dad." _

Keith's mouth drops open, his hand falls away from Shiro's arm, and he watches him run forward without a word.

* * *

 

Matt is standing in the cafeteria, slowly stirring cream and sugar into his coffee, when he turns around and notices the teenager sitting at a corner table by himself. His first instinct is to pass him by and go back upstairs, but the thought of going back to Shiro's room makes something inside of him feel like it's cracking, and the kid at the table looks jittery and miserable, so he finds himself walking that way before he even really realizes it. 

"Hey. Mind if I sit here?"

The kid jumps and stares at him for a second before looking pointedly around the room. "There's like... thirty empty tables in here."

"Yeah, exactly," Matt says. "They're empty. If I wanted to sit in silence, I'd go back upstairs and stare at my boyfriend some more and wait for him to wake up. But clearly I don't want to do that, because that's miserable, and I want to sit here."

"Oh." The kid stares for another few seconds, eyes narrowed, then shrugs. "Whatever, man." He shoves the chair across from him out for Matt, and Matt drops into it and yelps when some of his coffee splashes over the edge of his cup and onto his hand. Wordlessly, the kid pulls a napkin out of the dispenser in the middle of the table and holds it out to him. 

"Thanks," Matt mutters, hissing through his teeth as he dabs at the tiny burns. "That's just fucking great. This makes today that much better, you know?"

The kid shifts uncomfortably. "You said you're here for your... boyfriend?"

"Yeah," Matt says tiredly. He's too exhausted to try to parse through the kid's tone and figure out if he's going to be weird about it. Right now, he just wants to sit here and drink his shitty coffee and not have to think about Shiro unconscious upstairs. "You?"

"Friend of mine," the kid says. "I... guess. I don't actually know if he's in this hospital." He laughs hoarsely and drops his head into his hands. "I've tried three others. I know he's in the hospital, but I don't know which one, and no one will give me any information because I'm not family. This is the first place that hasn't flat out told me 'no,' so I'm taking that as a yes."

Matt stares, finally taking in the kid's ratty appearance and the large backpack on the chair next to him. "Oh hell, you're Keith, aren't you?"

Keith whips his head up. "What? Yes. Who are you? What?"

"I'm Matt, I'm Shiro's boyfriend," Matt says. "You're here for Shiro, right?"

"Yes," Keith gasps. "He's here? Really? I was just gonna camp out here for a few days but-" His voice breaks. "Can I see him?"

Matt scrambles to his feet, leaving his coffee on the table. "Yes! Yeah, yes, of course, oh my gosh. I tried to get in touch with you, but Shiro's phone is broken and I didn't have any other way; I don't know your number. He's on the fourth floor, come on." He takes off at a brisk walk, suddenly full of energy, and Keith snatches up his backpack and hurries after him. "How did you even know he was in the hospital?"

"Newspaper," Keith says. "Little... like, three-sentence blurb about his dad getting arrested. They didn't say Shiro's name, just that his son was in critical condition." His voice catches. "I got here as fast as I could, but like I said, no one would tell me anything."

"He's okay," Matt says quickly, smashing the elevator button repeatedly and sagging in relief when the doors open immediately. "He's stable. He hasn't woken up yet but he's gonna be okay."

He turns around to see that Keith has gone shock white, stumbling into the elevator after him and grabbing onto one of the rails. "He's okay?" he repeats faintly. "He's really okay?"

"Yeah," Matt says, gentling. "He's really okay, man. It..." He licks his dry lips. "I won't lie, it was rough. And it's gonna be rough for a while. He got really hurt. But he's gonna be okay now."

Keith draws in a shaky breath, then suddenly spins around to face the corner. It doesn't hide the way that his shoulders start shaking, and the hand clapped over his mouth doesn't muffle his sobs, but Matt doesn't comment. Goodness knows he's cried enough the past week, ever since those men first broke into the house, dragging Shiro away and leaving Matt bleeding on the floor.

All he'd needed was stitches and a few days of staying off the leg. Shiro, on the other hand...

The elevator dings and the doors slide open before Matt can finish the thought. He gives Keith a moment to collect himself, sniffing loudly and wiping at his face, then marches off towards Shiro's room. Only three days here and he's already memorized the path down the hallways.

"You're limping," Keith says suddenly. "Are you hurt?"

Matt glances down at his leg in surprise. "Yeah, kind of. Do you know anything about what happened?"

Keith shakes his head. "Not really. I could... put some pieces together. But it's all mostly guesswork."

"I'll tell you when we get in the room," Matt says, keeping his voice down. It's the middle of the night, after all. "There's some stuff- I'm not supposed to talk about everything yet. The investigation is still open. Hell, I don't even  _ know _ everything yet."

"Right," Keith says, and he almost runs into Matt's back when they stop outside the door to Shiro's room.

"Listen," Matt says. "I know you don't know what happened, but just... he doesn't look good, okay? But he's gonna be all right. I promise. Just keep that in mind."

"I just want to see him," Keith says. His voice is small and he sounds, suddenly, very young. In all the stories Matt's heard about him, Shiro never made him out to be this damn young. He knew, of course, Shiro mentioned how old he was, but he still always seemed so...

"Okay," he says, and opens the door.

Keith spills into the room messily, dropping his bag on the floor and stumbling over to Shiro's bed. His eyes are wide and his hands are shaking as they hover over the bandage covering a third of Shiro's face. The one over his hairline was removed just a few hours ago, but that just means that it's that much easier to see the ugly black stitches where his bangs were cut away. Keith hasn't looked away from Shiro's face yet, but Matt doesn't want him to see the biggest change with no warning.

"Keith," he says carefully. "His arm is-"

Keith finally looks down, and he groans and buries his face in his hands when he sees the way the blanket drops off sharply where it covers Shiro's right arm. "How?" he whispers, and Matt clears his throat.

"There was infection. He lost a few fingers and his wrist was broken really badly, and, and they tried to save it, but... it came off just yesterday."

"He's just gonna wake up like this?" Keith asks, and Matt nods, slowly lowering himself into the other chair across from Keith.

Then he takes a deep breath, and tells Keith what happened.

* * *

 

Shiro is fourteen the first time he shows up on the Holt's doorstep in the middle of the night, wearing pajamas and an uneasy smile. "Hello, Mrs. Holt," he says, unusually formal. "I'm sorry to wake you. May I come in?"

"Of course, Shiro," she says, still wiping sleep from her eyes. Sam comes down the stairs while she's leading Shiro into the kitchen, looking just as concerned as she is.

"Shiro? What are you doing here? Is everything okay?"

"Um." Shiro's arms are wrapped around himself, and he's not shaking but Colleen can see goosebumps on his skin. It's almost June already, but this long after midnight, it's cold outside. "I'm not sure?" he says, voice raising at the end to turn the statement into a question.

"Let me get you some hot chocolate," Colleen says, shepherding him onto one of the stools set up at the kitchen island. "Do you want marshmallows?"

"Yes, please," Shiro says, voice flat and thin. "I'm, um, I'm really sorry to bother you," he says quietly. "I just wasn't exactly sure where I was supposed to go. My dad told me to get out of the house."

Sam, lowering himself into the seat next to Shiro, freezes. "He what?"

Shiro doesn't look up at him, slowly tracing shapes on the counter. "He, uh, he called? Maybe ten minutes ago? And told me that someone was coming over and I needed to be gone before he got there."

"Your dad's not home right now?" Colleen asks, placing the mug of milk in the microwave and turning around to face Sam and Shiro.

Shiro blushes and shakes his head. "He's on, uh, a business trip."

Sam meets Colleen's eyes. They try to limit their interactions with Shiro's father, but they know him well enough to know what a "business trip" entails. And knowing how those trips usually go for him, they can put the pieces together pretty easily to figure out just what kind of person would be going to Shiro's house in the middle of the night that would scare his father so much he would tell his teenage son to run away from them. 

The microwave dings. Colleen pulls the mug out, stirs in some Nesquik and a squirt of caramel sauce from the fridge, and hands it to Shiro. "Well, you're welcome to stay here," she says. "I'll get-"

"Mom? Dad?"

They all turn around. Katie is standing in the doorway, knuckling at her eyes and yawning. "What's Shiro doing here?" she mumbles. "Are we havin' a sleepover?"

Sam and Colleen share a quick look, and then they're both beaming at their youngest. "You're absolutely right, we are!" Sam cries. "Go get your brother and as many blankets and pillows as you can carry! We're building a fort in the living room and sleeping downstairs!"

Katie stares at them for a moment, then a slow grin spreads across her face and she takes off running. "Matt!" she screeches. "Matt, wake up, we're havin' a sleepover and Shiro's here and we're gonna build a pillow fort!"

Shiro laughs, drains his hot chocolate, and lets himself be distracted by the Holt family. That night he falls asleep piled in between the four of them on the living room floor, happy to forget, for just a few hours, what almost happened.

The next morning, Sam and Colleen quietly set about researching what it takes to become qualified as foster parents.

* * *

 

"So Shiro told you about me?" Keith asks, fiddling with one of the half a dozen rubber bracelets around his wrists.

"Oh, yeah," Matt says. "Like, the weirdest stuff about you, too. Shiro freaking sucks at telling stories. I have no idea how you two met, but I know that you're allergic to apples. On that note, though, did you actually throw an apple into a moving car a few years ago?"

Keith can't help the flush the crawls up his neck and settles in his cheeks. "I panicked. Last time I actually ate an apple I had to go to the ER. For all I knew, just touching it would do the same thing. I was just trying to get it away from me, I didn't think it would- I mean, what moron drives with their windows down in February?"

Matt throws back his head and cackles. Between them, Shiro sighs, and they both freeze, watching him for a moment. When he doesn't move or make any other noise, Keith reluctantly relaxes in his chair. Matt bites his lip, searching Shiro's face for a few seconds longer before he does the same.

"This is so stupid," Keith grumbles, scrubbing at his face. "Do they have any more information about... anything?"

"No," Matt says, dropping his head back and staring up at the ceiling. "Whoever did this has gone to ground, and Shiro's dad isn't talking. Apparently, rather than feeling any responsibility or, you know, paternal affection for his only child, or hey, I'd be fine with him feeling some guilt right about now, he's decided that he'd rather be a little pissbaby and keep quiet about who exactly he owed the money too. Because he's  _ scared. _ " He sneers. "Guess who else is scared? Me. You. My entire family. Shiro's not scared, probably, because he's too busy playing Sleeping Beauty." He pauses for a long second, then adds, so quietly that Keith isn't sure he's supposed to have heard, "I hope he's not scared, still."

"Can they trace his finances in any way?" Keith asks, and Matt snorts.

"Shirogane doesn't deal in anything but cash," he says. "Shiro told me that once. Supposedly it's to keep exactly this from happening, but all it did was let the bad guys find him and keep the cops away. So I guess that didn't exactly work out for anyone, did it?"

"No," Keith says, eyeing the bandage covering half of his best friend's face. "It didn't."

* * *

 

"Hello, Takashi," the woman at the door says. "Is your father home?"

"Nobody calls me Takashi," Shiro says. The woman just smiles and doesn't answer, so he rolls his eyes. "No. He's at work."

"Would you mind giving him a message for me, then?" the woman asks, and Shiro shrugs. 

"Okay."

The woman bends at the waist, looks him in the eye, and smiles sweetly. "Tell him we know where he lives, and he has forty-eight hours to give us back what he owes us." 

Shiro stares at her with wide eyes. She grins, pats his cheek with icy fingers, and turns away.

"Bye, Champ. Hope I never see you again."

* * *

 

"Haggar," Shiro gasps. "Please, this isn't- you  _ know _ my dad. You think he'll give a shit about this?"

Haggar snorts, arranging Shiro's hand neatly beneath what would look almost like a large paper trimmer, if it weren't for the bloodstains on the blade. "Aw, Champ, let's face it. I know your dad better than you do. Have for years. Trust me, he's shitting himself right now." She grimaces sympathetically and pats Shiro's cheek. "It's nothing personal, kid. It's just business."

Shiro can't help the high, terrified noise that slips out of his throat, and he struggles vainly against the arms of the men holding him still. Haggar tuts softly and splays his fingers out on the table. "Objectively," she says, tapping a single finger against her chin in parodied thoughtfulness, "I feel like the forefinger is more useful. Accusing, you know? Pointing. But then..." She runs the tip of one finger along the back of Shiro's middle finger even as he tries desperately to curl it into a fist. "Wouldn't it just be wonderful," she muses, pinning his hand flat to the table with her other hand, "if the first message your father receives is you flipping him off? Almost poetic, in a way. Of course, he won't be able to tell, most likely, which finger it is."

"Then what's it matter?" Shiro gasps. "Send him something I won't fucking  _ miss.  _ You want some of my hair? We can do that. Haggar,  _ please _ ."

"Oh, Takashi." She pats his cheek again. He shivers. "It's just business, Champ, but I take a lot of pride in my work. Still, something you won't miss? All right." She twists his hand so sharply on the table he can't help but scream as he feels something in his wrist  _ crack _ . "Pinkie it is."

* * *

 

"What the hell is this?" Keith asks, staring at the envelope Shiro just shoved into his hands. Shiro shrugs and pulls his hands into his coat sleeves.

"Happy birthday."

"My birthday's in October," Keith says, not opening the envelope. Shiro shrugs again and doesn't meet his eyes.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't here then. This is a late birthday present."

" _ Your _ birthday is today," Keith says flatly. "I'm not taking your birthday money, Shiro."

"It's not my birthday money, asshole," Shiro grumbles. "Geez. I can't just give you a present? Maybe I'm celebrating Hobbit style." At Keith's blank look, he flushes. "It's- in Lord of the Rings, Bilbo gives people presents on his birthday instead of- look, the point is, I want you to have it."

"I'm not taking it," Keith says, a stubborn set to his jaw. "Forget hobgoblins and elbows, it's  _ your _ birthd-"

"It's not my damn birthday money!" Shiro hisses. "I didn't fucking  _ get _ any this year, okay? I got a job. I earned that, and I get to choose what I do with it, and I'm choosing to give it to you. So just shut the fuck up and let me help you for once, okay?"

Keith stares at him, mouth hanging open. "You can't just- Shiro, that's not fair. You need this money."

"Not as much as you do. Look, bud, I..." Shiro scrubs at his face. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you, that wasn't okay. But that's not exactly all of it, all right?" He manages a wry smile. "I didn't just give you my whole damn paycheck from the last six months. I kept some for myself, but you need it more than I do."

Keith gnaws on his lower lip. "But you need it, too. Your dad-"

"My dad doesn't know I have a job," Shiro cuts in. "You think I'd have  _ any _ money left if he did? Of course not. I kept it secret specifically so that I could save up to give this to you. Please, Keith, take it. I can hide a bank account from him, but you know my dad." He smiles wryly. "When it comes to cash, he's got a nose like a bloodhound. I could put that envelope in my damn shoe and he'd find it before the day is out."

Keith bites his lip so hard it turns white, but he finally sighs and tucks the envelope into his jacket. "Fine. But I'm paying for lunch."

* * *

 

"Please, you gotta find Shiro,  _ find Shiro- _ "

"Sir, you need to sit still, I need to look at your leg-"

_ "Where's Shiro? _ " Matt yells, and the EMT keeps pushing him down when he tries to climb off the gurney. He finally settles for propping himself up on his elbows, looking dizzily around at the flashing lights and the crowd of onlookers. "Please, you have to-"

He hears yelling off to the side and he can't make his damn eyes focus but someone is telling someone else to stay back and then he hears, louder, "No, that's my son, that's my son over there!" and before he can even recognize his father's voice Sam Holt is suddenly standing there, wrapping Matt in a bone crushing hug. Matt hugs him back, crying and babbling uncontrollably.

"Dad, they took Shiro, they just grabbed him and they slashed my leg and I couldn't- my head- they've got Shiro and they want money and I don't know where he is-"

"It's okay," his dad says fiercely, and Matt is even more shaken to realize that he's crying, too, almost as hard as Matt. "We're gonna get him back, Matt, I swear, we're gonna find him and make this be okay, I will make this okay."

"Sir, I need you to step back, we need to get him in the ambulance, on three."

"Wait, Dad-"

"One, two-"

His dad steps away, the EMT pushes Matt down again, and the world lurches. By the time the dizziness passes and his vision stops spinning, he's in the ambulance, his dad is sitting next to him and clutching his hand, and they're moving.

"Your mom and sister are following in the car," he says. "They're gonna meet us at the hospital. It's okay, Matty."

Matt can't stop the tears rolling down his cheeks any more than he can stop his leg from bleeding. "Dad, where's  _ Shiro _ ?"

Sam doesn't answer him.

* * *

 

"What are you doing?"

Shiro looks up, eyes wide, to see a kid maybe a few years younger than him scowling at him. "Uh, I'm sitting."

The kid only scowls harder. "Yeah, I can see that, stupid. Why are you sitting on  _ my  _ bench? Find somewhere else."

Normally Shiro would let it slide, maybe even laugh about it, but it's his twelfth birthday and his dad left him outside of the casino with twenty bucks and he's  _ angry _ . He puffs up. "Who says it's your bench? Anyone can sit on a stupid bench. You don't own it."

"I've got squatter's rights," the kid says staunchly, crossing his arms with an impressive scowl. "I work on this bench all the time. No one else can work here."

That throws Shiro for a loop. "I'm not working. I'm waiting for my dad to get out of the casino."

"Oh." And just like that, the kid does a complete 180, from incensed to curious. He plops himself down on the bench next to Shiro and says, "I'm Keith. You want to learn how to do what I do?"

And Shiro, bored and angry and equally curious, says, "Sure."

* * *

 

"Hey," Shiro says. "My dad's out of town this weekend. You should come over."

"You did that in the wrong order," Matt mumbles sleepily, stretching where he's sprawled on top of Shiro. "What's the point in inviting me over if you're not gonna use a meme to do it?"

Shiro rolls his eyes but obligingly says, "Babe, come over."

"Can't," Matt says, grinning like a banshee. "I don't have a car."

"My parents aren't home."

"Insert blurry image of someone running," Matt concludes, oozing satisfaction, but then he pauses. "You know, that really makes more sense over text."

"You literally just made me say it out loud."

Matt  _ harumphs _ . "Doesn't matter. Still sounds weird. Ooh, you know what sounds weird about it? The part where you're an adult and you still live at home."

Shiro snorts. "I'm not even twenty yet. And besides, genius, you're the same age as me and you still live at home."

"Yeah, but..." Matt places his hands on either side of Shiro's head and lifts himself up, looking down at him with a frown. "Our situations aren't exactly the same. My parents don't make me pay rent, for one thing."

Shiro flushes but doesn't look away. "It's still cheaper than moving out would be. Besides, I've been paying Dad rent for years, ever since he found out I could afford to."

"That's not- okay, listen, your dad making you pay rent from the time you were in high school does  _ not _ make you paying him rent now okay. You know that, right?"

It's hard to avoid Matt's eyes when he's directly above Shiro, so Shiro wraps his arms around Matt's waist and tugs him back down to lie on Shiro's chest. Matt goes with a soft  _ oof,  _ flopping down and snuggling in close. "You could always move in with us. My parents would be thrilled. They've been ready for you to become an official Holt since we were kids."

"Yeah, right," Shiro says, but he can't deny the warm glow in his chest.

"No, I'm serious," Matt tells him. "I'm pretty sure they got registered as foster parents because of you, because if anything happened they wanted to make sure you could come straight to us with no problem. And you still could. Doesn't matter that you're a super boring and responsible grown up person, you could totally move in with us."

As he's been talking, Matt has wriggled down Shiro's chest so he can tuck his head under Shiro's chin. Shiro sighs and gently nuzzles the top of Matt's head.

"I gotta stay at home, Matt. Do you have any idea how much trouble my dad would get into if I weren't there to keep an eye on him?"

"Fine," Matt grouses. "I won't rag on you about it. But maybe for once you should think about how much trouble  _ you  _ get into because you're there, keeping an eye on him."

Shiro doesn't have an answer for that.

* * *

 

Keith is asleep when it happens. Matt is awake, but only because the nurse that just came in to check on Shiro accidentally woke him up.

"Sorry, Matt," Shay whispers. They've gotten to know each other over the last few days. "I was trying to be quiet."

"It's okay," Matt says, waving a hand dismissively. "I was only half asleep anyways. Not like the coma twins here." He turns to smile fondly at Shiro and Keith, only to meet Shiro's eyes. He gapes, and Shiro stares back, blinking slowly.

"Well, hello!" Shay says, jumping in. She's clearly happy, but she still keeps her voice pitched low. "It is good to see you awake, Shiro. How are you feeling?"

Instead of answering, Shiro's eyes rove slowly around the room, taking in Matt, the piles of flowers and get well soon cards on the table in the corner, and Keith, sprawled in the chair on his left. He doesn't look down at his arm, and if he notices the bandage on his face, he doesn't say anything.

"Chips," he says, and closes his eyes again. He lets out a slow, deep sigh, and then he's asleep. Matt laughs disbelievingly and closes his own eyes against a sudden rush of tears. Shay places a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

"Chips," Matt repeats, almost blubbering as he starts crying harder. "He's talking about goddamn poker chips."

* * *

 

"Hey, Matt, I brought- who are you?"

Pidge freezes in the doorway, staring at Keith in obvious surprise. He stares back, and he looks torn between running away and tackling her. Matt has never seen "fight or flight" play out so clearly on someone's face before.

"This is my sister, Pidge," he says quickly, not particularly eager to see either option play out. "Pidge, this is Keith, he's a friend of Shiro's."

Pidge's mouth drops open. "Wait,  _ you're _ Keith?"

Keith scowls and crosses his arms over his chest, but he does at least relax back in his chair. Well, slump back. Close enough. "Does fuckin' everyone know about me?"

"You know Shiro never shuts up," Matt says, trying to force himself to sound cheery. He's not sure it works, but Pidge finally starts and walks into the room instead of just standing in the doorway. 

"Pretty sure you're confusing Shiro with yourself," she says dryly, before unceremoniously dropping a plastic bag in his lap. "Brought you a change of clothes, and Mom put some snack food in there. I think Dad might have snuck an apple in; I don't know."

Matt's eyes dart up to meet Keith's. "Uh."

"If you don't want it, I'll take it," Keith offers. "No better way to start the day than anaphylaxis."

He sounds so much like Shiro that Matt can't help but guffaw. And if a few tears slip out, neither Pidge nor Keith says anything about it.

* * *

 

"Hey, Shiro?" Keith asks one day. He's stretched out on one of the beds in Shiro's hotel room, staring up at the ceiling. Shiro, lying on the other bed and occasionally dropping a gummy worm in his mouth from the open bag in his lap, glances over.

"Yeah? What's up?"

"How come you never ask me any questions?"

"What kind of questions? I ask you questions a lot."

"Yeah, but you ask me questions about, like, other stuff." Even without looking, Shiro knows that Keith is frowning. "You ask me different questions than most people ask. You ask me stuff like, if I could have a store what would I sell in it. Or if I think dragons are real."

"I think they are," Shiro says idly. He drops another gummy worm in his mouth, sets the bag to the side, and rolls onto his side, propping his head in his hand so he can see Keith and, yep, he's frowning. "What kinds of questions do other people ask you?"

"Why I'm not in school," Keith says promptly. "Where my parents are. If I eat enough."

Shiro snorts. "I  _ know _ you don't eat enough. You're too skinny to be eating enough."

Keith doesn't respond to the bait. "Sometimes people ask me stuff like that, I guess. But you never do. I thought at first you didn't care, but it's been three years and you're still  _ here. _ So I wondered."

Shiro doesn't answer at first, mulling over his words. "I guess because... people ask me a lot of questions like that, too. And I don't like answering them. So I didn't want to make you answer them, either."

"Oh," Keith says, voice soft. And then, even softer, "Could I tell you anyways? Even if you didn't ask?"

He's still not looking at Shiro, but Shiro swallows hard and then nods. "Yeah. Yeah, you could, definitely."

"I'm not homeless," is the first thing Keith says. "I have foster parents, but they don't really care what I do all day, so I mostly come here, to the city."

Shiro tries not to sigh in relief too loudly, but he can't help it. More than once over the last few years he's imagined Keith sleeping under a bridge, or behind a dumpster, or in an alleyway. He can read between the lines well enough to know that things aren't good at home for Keith, but at least he  _ has _ one. Keith looks at Shiro out of the corner of his eye, but he doesn't comment.

"We're home schooled, me and the other kids. Or we're supposed to be. They kind of just give us work books and sometimes they check our answers. I sometimes do mine on the bus. I do all the work, even if they don't always. I get good scores on the end of year tests."

"Well yeah, you're smart," Shiro says, because he's never doubted that. He is, maybe, a little surprised that Keith's good at  _ school _ . In his head, he's always divided people into two groups: people who are smart like Matt, good with numbers and words but not always good with people, and people who are smart like Keith, quick and clever but maybe not the greatest students. "So you just do school in your off time and work the rest of the time?"

"Yeah, I guess," Keith says. "I don't really do a whole lot else. I've been with this family for over two years now, and we've kind of gotten used to each other."

Shiro takes a moment to gather his thoughts and then, finally, he asks the question he's been wondering for three years. "What's the money for?"

"The work money?" Keith asks, and Shiro hums an agreement. "I'm saving up. I have almost a thousand dollars already, and soon I'll be old enough to get a real job. I want to get emancipated, because I hate being a foster kid and you have to prove that you have money to get out early. Even if I can't, I need to have some saved up so I don't get screwed over as soon as I turn eighteen."

"You know," Shiro says carefully, "even if you didn't have any money, you could always come to me. I'd help you out no matter what, in whatever way I could."

Keith finally turns to face Shiro, and he looks honestly puzzled. "Shiro, you already help me. You bought me gummy worms, and you let me hang out in your hotel room all day. What more could I need?"

Shiro thinks of a hundred things. He thinks of clothes that fit, and a haircut, and a life that doesn't involve Keith talking about begging for spare change and picking pockets as casually as some people talk about an after-school job. He thinks that Keith doesn't want to hear any of that.

"I think you need a dog," he says, finally. "A big ole mutt. Name it Clifford the big red dog."

Keith snorts and tosses a gummy worm at Shiro. It bounces off his cheek. "You're dumb."

* * *

 

Shiro has been practicing his handwriting for almost an hour now, and it's obvious he's getting more and more frustrated. "It's not enough to get my damn hand lopped off," he growls, fingers clenched so tightly around the pencil that they've gone white. "No, they had to take my fucking  _ dominant _ hand, thanks, Haggar, I appreciate it so damn much..." Matt makes a tiny noise, and Shiro's head whips up. "What?" he snaps.

"Sorry, it's just... are we making jokes about it now?" Matt asks. "We've kind of been, you know,  _ not  _ joking about it."

"I'm not joking about it," Shiro says slowly. "I'm complaining about it. That's different."

He's not smiling, not even kind of, but there's something almost curious in his expression. Matt might even call it hopeful. He wants to see what Matt does next.

So Matt lets out a gusty sigh and slumps back in his chair. " _ Fine _ . No jokes." And then, quietly but still loud enough that Shiro can definitely hear him, "Didn't know you kept your sense of humor in your right hand. Guess that's gone, now."

Shiro snorts out a laugh, the first one in weeks, and Matt doesn't even try to hide his delighted, triumphant smile.

* * *

 

"Hello, Sir Holt," Shiro says solemnly. "I, Takashi Shirogane, would like to ask you for your son's hand in casual dating."

Sam Holt eyes him over the edge of his glasses. "Who are you to demand such a thing? I shall grant no such request."

Shiro gasps. "If you will not give him freely, then I shall fight for his love!" Quick as a wink, he snatches a plastic fork off the table and brandishes it. Sam growls and grabs the plastic spoon that was laid out next to it.

"Over my dead body!" he declares, loudly enough that other people in the McDonald's turn to stare. They set to smacking their plasticware against each other's, grunting and groaning loudly. Across from them, Pidge slurps her drink and occasionally cheers one or the other on. Colleen slaps her hands over Matt's eyes.

"Oh, my beloved son!" she wails. "Do not look upon such violence! It will corrupt an innocent young soul such as yourself!"

Matt flails back in his seat, trying to pull her hands away. "Wait, I want to see the violence! I want to be corrupted!"

"Stab him, Dad!" Pidge bellows, and Shiro sends her a wounded look. She shrugs, unrepentant. "Nothing personal, Shiro. I just want a good show. And a good show requires bloodshed."

Sam pauses the battle to examine his spoon. "You know, I'd have to stab someone  _ really _ hard to make them bleed with this. Maybe if I sharpened it?" He runs one edge of the spoon experimentally against the corner of the table. While he's distracted, Shiro dramatically swings his fork toward Sam's head only to poke him gently in the side of the neck. Sam gasps and clutches at the imaginary wound. "No!" he cries, slumping slowly over the table and ignoring the ketchup he smears across his shirt in the process. "How will I be overprotective of my children in the afterlife? Colleen, you must smother them in my stead!"

"Hey, Mom, can I get a tattoo of a skeleton riding a flaming scorpion into battle now that Dad is dead?" Pidge asks, her straw never leaving her mouth.

"I want nipple piercings!" Matt says, finally managing to pry Colleen's hands away. "And a tongue stud!"

"Permission to liquidate my life's savings and buy as many lottery tickets as I can get my hands on?" Shiro asks. Colleen shrugs.

"Go crazy, kids."

"Hey, not fair," Sam whines, frowning up at her without ever lifting his head from the table. "I wanted to be the cool, fun parent."

Colleen makes a buzzer noise with her mouth. "Anh! Too late, you're the dead parent. That makes me the cool, fun parent by default."

"You can be the ghost parent," Matt offers. "Haunt us with your wisdom, Dad."

"Acceptable," Sam decides, finally sitting up. "Also, Shiro, you fought bravely so you may now date my son."

"Cool," Shiro says as he pops a fry in his mouth. "We've been doing that for a year, but I appreciate the sentiment all the same."

"Don't be stupid," Pidge says, finally emptying her cup and panting slightly as she sets it to the side. "You guys have been dating since like, third grade. You just finally put a name on it a year ago."

"We actually didn't," Matt says brightly. "We argued about it for three days before finally deciding that labeling it was too much pressure and we were better off just carrying on as before."

Shiro nods sagely. "Boyfriends? Datemates? Partners? Crime fighting dynamic duo? So confusing. So many options. We're eighteen, we'll figure it out later."

"I'm gonna call him 'husband' some day," Matt faux-whispers to his mother, who coos. "And he's gonna call me 'the most perfect man to ever walk the earth.'"

"Not gonna happen," Shiro says calmly. "The most perfect man ever to walk the earth wouldn't shamelessly split an infinitive like that. I'm breaking up with you and you can call me the one that got away."

Matt sticks his tongue out at Shiro. Shiro throws a fry at his face, and they all cheer when Matt manages to catch it in his mouth.

* * *

 

When Shiro wakes up for real, for good, finally aware enough to respond and answer the doctor's questions, Matt and Keith get kicked out of the room immediately. Shiro watches them go, eyes wide and terrified. They can't  _ leave _ . Don't the doctors know that he needs them here? Don't they know that Matt holding Shiro's left hand was the only thing that kept him calm when thinking about what happened to his right, and that seeing Keith on his other side kept him centered enough to actually talk to the doctor? The two of them argue,  _ loudly _ , as they're shepherded out of the room and into the hallway, but the doctor does finally get them out and then it's just Shiro and a man wearing a badge around his neck.

"Mr. Shirogane," he begins, and Shiro winces.

"Um, just Shiro, please. My dad is... I just go by Shiro."

"All right then," the man says, and lowers himself into the chair Matt left empty. "I'm Detective Kolivan. I need to ask you a few questions."

Shiro nods and forces himself to maintain eye contact, because if he ducks his head the way he wants to he'll have to look at the bandages wrapped around his arm. "About what happened at the warehouse?"

"Yes," Kolivan says. "I know that this is difficult for you to remember, and it will be even harder to talk about. But if you want to find the people that did this, we're going to have to go over a lot of painful details."

Shiro nods, takes a deep breath, and then launches into it before Kolivan can open his mouth again. "I've known Haggar since I was a kid. I met her for the first time when I was nine, and she came to the house to give me a message for my dad..."

* * *

 

A month after Shiro is released from the hospital, Keith stumbles into the Holts' house sagging under the weight of Shiro leaning heavily against him. Pidge is the only one home, and she takes one look at them and scrambles off the sofa to slide under Shiro's other arm. Keith gasps out a noise that might be a thank you, or just might be a pained grunt. Shiro doesn't say anything. The two of them manage to lead him over to the sofa and drop him down as gently as they can. He curls up in one corner, face hidden behind his knees, and doesn't say anything.

"What  _ happened _ ?" Pidge gasps, brushing her messy hair out of her face. "Shiro, are you okay?" Shiro doesn't answer. Keith bends over, hands on his knees, and takes a few deep breaths before he does.

"Got recognized at the grocery store," he says, trying to bite back the growl in his voice when the sound of it makes Shiro shake even harder. "They started talking about, like, how he was so brave and a hero and shit. They wanted to take a  _ picture _ with him."

Pidge sucks in a surprised breath, then hisses it out between her teeth. "So not really how we wanted today to go." It was Shiro's first time out of the house since leaving the hospital, other than his physical therapy and other check ups. It was supposed to be a quick, low stress grocery run with Keith there to keep him steady as they picked up a few items for dinner. It wasn't supposed to end in a panic attack.

"No," Keith says wearily. "Can you get us a couple of water bottles? He's gonna need something to drink when he comes out of this."

It feels wrong to talk about Shiro like he's not even there, but in a way, he's not. He's unable to respond when he's in the throes of a panic attack like this, and he never remembers it clearly enough afterwards to say if he can understand what was going on around him. For all intents and purposes, he's not really here.

That doesn't stop Keith from squatting down in front of the sofa and placing a single hand on Shiro's knee. "Hey, man. I'm here. It's okay. You're safe."

It doesn't feel safe.

* * *

 

"So what do you want for your birthday this year?" Sam asks. "Twenty-one is a big one."

Shiro looks around the table. Colleen, like the mother he never knew, is smiling at him as she liberally salts her stir-fried vegetables and rice. Pidge is frantically trying to snatch the salt shaker out of her mother's hands. She came downstairs last week holding her chopped off ponytail in her hand and an electric razor in the other and declared that she was cutting her hair like Shiro's. While she's distracted, Matt is scooping broccoli off his plate and onto hers. His and Shiro’s three year anniversary is in a month and a half. Next to Matt is Keith, watching the other three with a grin as he happily devours his own breakfast. He's been living with the Holts ever since Shiro was in the hospital. He was just a few months shy of eighteen then, and his foster parents had been satisfied with an email saying that he was alive and not coming home. The Holts had folded him into their family just as easily and neatly as they had Shiro, many years before, and the change that came over him sometimes astounds Shiro. Last is Sam, smiling benignly and pretending he doesn't see what's going on at the table, even as he pushes his own plate over to Colleen so she can start salting his food and continue studiously ignoring Pidge's grabby hands. He had been at the hospital every day Shiro was there. He sat next to Shiro in the courtroom every day of the trial, and he sat with him in the middle of the night when Shiro was crying too hard to breathe. In every way that matters, Sam Holt is his  _ dad _ .

Shiro thinks about that. And he thinks about what kinds of gifts he could ask for that would benefit his family more than him. He thinks about asking for a video game that Matt and Pidge would play more than him, or tickets to the opera that he could foist on Sam and Colleen, or a chance to go to the scrapyard and get pieces for the old junker of a bike that Keith is restoring in the backyard. 

He thinks about Pidge, accepting him as her honorary big brother from the first day they met. He thinks about Matt, holding Shiro close and whispering that he loves him. He thinks about Sam and Colleen, the parents he always wanted and who, to his continuing amazement, somehow want him, too. He thinks about Keith, laughing and happy and surrounded by people he loves. 

And then, for the first time in years, Shiro thinks about himself. 

He offers Sam a small, tremulous smile, and he says, "It sure would be nice to have a dog around here again."

Sam grins at him. Matt and Pidge look around with wide eyes and matching  _ O _ shaped mouths. "Are we getting a dog?" Matt demands. "Are we getting Shiro a dog?"

"I like dogs," Keith offers. 

"Puppy two point oh!" Pidge cheers, throwing her hands in the air. "Time to go dog hunting!"

Colleen grins. "It has been too long since we've had to clean paw prints off the carpet. I vote yes."

Sam huffs. "Well, as tempting as it would be to say yes, I'm afraid I have to be the voice of reason here." He sighs, looks at Shiro sadly, then leans in and says, "We are  _ absolutely _ doing that. Happy birthday, son. A dog it is.”


End file.
